


echoes (of that night keep coming back)

by sayounarahitori



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Nipple Play, Porn with Feelings, friendly handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23352628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sayounarahitori/pseuds/sayounarahitori
Summary: In the wake of their comeback, Taeyong can't sleep. Doyoung helps — Doyoung always helps, even if this time it's a little unconventional.
Relationships: Kim Dongyoung | Doyoung/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 99
Kudos: 788
Collections: (let's get away) just the two of us: dotae fan week 2020, NCT being (fictional) gays





	1. lose it all for a night with you

**Author's Note:**

> initially inspired by [THIS](https://twitter.com/kittyong/status/1235745442333429761?s=20) bc what the heck doyoung........ but also bc dotae KEEPS HAPPENING and I just couldn't take it anymore

Taeyong turns over for the ninth time since lying down. It's always like this — whenever he's too excited for the upcoming day, he gets shifty and antsy, too wound up to fall asleep. He's already kicked off his pants when he thought it was too warm in the room — it wasn't, really, he just wanted to do _something_ to change the situation.

He huffs and mentally braces himself for another sleepless night. It's fine, he can sleep later. Even if he doesn't sleep, he can function well enough — his members and managers will notice, of course, but everyone else… it's fine.

He throws the blanket off and gets back to his desk, awakening his computer from its slumber, and it shamelessly reminds him that he was just going through the new album "for the last time".

He barely resists the impulse to resume playback. It feels good, to be listening to it, knowing just how soon it will finally be out in the world. He used to be embarrassed to hear songs he was involved in, but now he's just so weirdly proud.

Plus, it's not just him.

The voices of his members are a special comfort, one he never takes lightly. His finger finally presses the space button, and he picks up the headphones.

He's in a weird mood, not really wishing to throw himself into work again, but neither does he want to play or browse internet, which is for the best. Taeyong tucks his knees under himself, raises the sound up a little. Perhaps it's fine if he just sits there, listening to music.

The headphones are blasting into his ears, _Day Dream_ now, so when a hand lands on his shoulder out of nowhere, Taeyong _screams_.

He barely catches himself before he can jump a couple meters up in the air and break some bones right becore their comeback.

He whirls around and points an accusing finger at Doyoung. "Wha— Why— You almost gave me a heart attack!"

Doyoung seems unamused, but then his eyes soften and Taeyong follows his gaze to the computer screen.

"I was just…" he tries to explain, wringing his hands. Well, there's not really much use trying to find a way out of this, is there. At least it wasn't open on his folder with Doyoung's covers.

Doyoung looks back at him, stern once again.

"You don't sleep," he accuses, and Taeyong wants to protest, but Doyoung continues, "I thought you knew better."

"It's hard to sleep when I'm so wound up," Taeyong grumbles, but in the quiet of his room it's all too easy to hear.

"Wound up?" Doyoung asks, now looking worried, and he can't be serious, with the way he's been touching and smirking and—

"Just because of the comeback?" Doyoung offers him a little smile, and Taeyong is helpless when he nods back.

Doyoung bites on his lip. He looks thoughtful and a bit nervous, and Taeyong is not sure what he can do to alleviate that.

"Just come to bed with me," Doyoung says finally.

Taeyong gulps. Truly, it's nothing out of the ordinary — it does help him when he has someone else in the bed, hands around him to prevent him from moving, or just a body next to his. They do that for him sometimes, almost all the members, but usually Doyoung or Yuta.

But it's been a while, and now his sleep schedule is all messed up, and Doyoung is looking increasingly worried.

So Taeyong nods.

He gets out of the chair, feet freezing, and follows Doyoung into his own bed.

"You must want to sleep though," he mumbles as they settle onto the mattress, and Doyoung instinctively tugs him closer until Taeyong is half-resting on his chest. He shudders a little at the touch. "I'm sorry for bothering you."

"You already bother me by not sleeping," Doyoung says dismissively, settling the blanket over them both. It feels nice, nicer than it was to lie there by himself.

He still can't fully relax, and at this point it's hard to tell if Doyoung's touches are doing more to calm him or to make him more jittery. Taeyong feels hands rubbing his shoulders, running down his arms, and he sighs, tries to only feel comforted.

Doyoung picks up on it easily, of course. "You okay?" he murmurs, and his warm voice just behind Taeyong is sort of killing him.

"Yeah, sorry… it's nice."

He's not lying. It is.

"You could lean on me," Doyoung offers, and until now Taeyong hasn't realised he's been trying to hold back from letting his full weight fall on Doyoung.

He takes a deep breath and sinks into Doyoung's firm body. Doyoung hums in approval, stroking up and down his arms.

It's all ridiculously perfect, until one of Doyoung's hands slides from his shoulder down to his chest, and Taeyong jumps.

"Doyoung!" he yells, indignant, and Doyoung has the actual gall to chuckle.

"Sorry, sorry," he apologises, laughing softly. "I just couldn't resist."

"You never can," Taeyong grumbles, and of course Doyoung picks up on it.

"Sorry," he whispers, entirely too cheerful, but Taeyong can't find it in himself to be angry. He just sighs, closing his eyes again.

It goes on for a few more minutes, and Taeyong actually feels himself dipping into sleep until Doyoung brushes something on his waist that makes him shudder and squirm and curl into himself. God, how does he always manage to pick out the most sensitive places—

"Sorry, sorry," Doyoung says once again. "Ticklish?"

Doyoung has not moved his hand from his waist, rubbing small circles into the skin where his t-shirt rode up. Taeyong presses his lips together.

"Not exactly," he manages to whisper.

"Ah."

Yeah.

"You know," Doyoung says and then stays silent for a whole minute. His hands remain in place.

It's quite unlike him to be this hesitant when he wants to say something. "Yes?" Taeyong finally asks.

"You know, sex usually helps you sleep."

Taeyong's mind process halts.

"Like, helps you relax," Doyoung continues, sounding more and more quiet with every word.

Taeyong can't help the nervous laughter that escapes him. "I… Um…"

Is it because— is it because Doyoung does, in fact, realise what he's doing with all of his touching? But Doyoung can't be that cruel, surely. Or can he?

"I'm just… saying." Doyoung sounds very tentative. Taeyong is pretty sure he's absolutely oblivious.

"Uh-uh," he replies, still dumbstruck.

"Have you… tried it?"

"Like, today or in general?" Taeyong asks incredulously, unable to help himself. What the fuck is going on?

"I meant—" Doyoung starts and then cuts himself off. "Ah, sorry… I just, you know..."

Taeyong, in fact, does not know. It's absolutely surreal, all of it, and yet, he doesn't scramble off the bed in shock. He stays frozen.

"So should I leave so you can maybe—" Doyoung barrels on, and Taeyong yelps, his body suddenly on fire.

"No! I— Nonono," he yells in quick succession, hands flapping uselessly. God, he must be so red.

"Oh," Doyoung kind of squeaks in response.

Taeyong doesn't move off him, but the air in the room is heavy, thrumming with uncertainty.

"Oh," Doyoung says again, and something in his voice confuses Taeyong. "Oh. Well— I— do you want me to help?"

What?

_What?_

Taeyong opens his mouth, but his throat is dry. His whole brain is dry. The sudden image of Doyoung _helping_ him relax takes over his mind. He doesn't even yelp.

"Taeyongie?" Doyoung asks from somewhere behind him, and Taeyong jerks. "You're not saying anything." He laughs without much humor in it.

"I—" Taeyong tries to say, but nothing seems enough to express his feelings. "I— You— You shouldn't—"

"So I should go?" Doyoung says in a slightly shaky voice.

And Taeyong should try to escape this situation, put it all behind them and forget, forget, but he doesn't want to. "No, no," he says embarrassingly quickly. "Don't go." He squeezes his eyes shut, wondering if Doyoung will make fun of him now.

Instead, he feels Doyoung's hands sliding up over his chest to his shoulders, bunching the short t-shirt sleeves up, and he gasps.

"I'm here," Doyoung whispers. "If you want to."

The last bit sounds like a question, but the whole situation is so much that Taeyong doesn't have it in him to provide an answer. He feels like everything inside him is thrumming, trembling, eager but afraid.

But Doyoung stills behind him.

"Hyung," he hears. "Do you want to?"

Taeyong bites his lip and nods, once, two, three times. "Please," he adds just in case.

Doyoung exhales.

He slides his hand down slowly, and Taeyong arches when it reaches one of his nipples. Even through the shirt, it's so much, and it's so embarrassing how much he enjoys it.

Doyoung thumbs over it, just lightly, almost like an accident.

"You're so sensitive," Doyoung marvels, as if he's not the one constantly using that to embarrass Taeyong. He pinches Taeyong's nipple, and Taeyong gasps before he can stop himself, squirming.

"You can make sounds," Doyoung says softly.

Taeyong makes protesting noises. No, no, of course he can't.

"Members," he whispers, and oh god, how does he already sound so gone? Doyoung doesn't realise that Taeyong has been on edge for half the day already, he will think he's this wrecked from a couple of touches to his chest and a strong body supporting him—

"It's fine," Doyoung says, and Taeyong wants to oppose, but right then he feels Doyoung's other hand fall on his hip, his wonderful hand with long fingers, and Doyoung's thumb scratches his bare skin, just below the sensitive place he found earlier.

"I—" he starts anyway, and Doyoung immediately tugs on his nipple, and whatever he wants to say turns into a whimper.

"Come here," Doyoung murmurs, widening his legs so Taeyong can lie between them, and Taeyong scoots back until his head rests on Doyoung's shoulder.

Doyoung hums in approval, and that sound alone makes something in Taeyong burn, wanting more, craving more.

He doesn't realise he's voiced his requests, but he must have because Doyoung slides his hand under his t-shirt — both of his hands, just forcing it higher and higher until it's bunched above Taeyong's chest.

"Okay?" he asks right into Taeyong's ear, and it's so, so hard not to turn his head and—

"Mhm," Taeyong confirms when it becomes apparent Doyoung won't continue before he answers. It makes something shuddery and hot inside him spread even more.

Doyoung exhales into Taeyong's ear — _god_ — and starts playing with his chest again, and as torturous as it is when Doyoung touches him there in front of other people, now that Taeyong can actually give into sensations, it's so, so good. He can't even feel embarrassed anymore, shuddering and arching under Doyoung's warm hands.

"God, you just…" Doyoung trails off, but wonder is evident in his voice, and Taeyong is so weirdly proud of bringing this out in him— "I wonder if you could come just like this."

Fuck. _Fuck_. Doyoung says the last part so quietly, but of course entirely too audible in the room filled with just Taeyong's pants, and he has to bite his lip hard to stop himself from moaning, because despite what Doyoung has said, he knows all too well he can't be loud for real.

He doesn't actually answer Doyoung, but it doesn't seem to be needed, anyway, with Doyoung murmuring praises under his breath, his hands roaming freely over Taeyong's chest. He feels so exposed suddenly, but all he can do is squeeze his eyes shut and turn his head away. Doyoung's comforting, familiar scent fills his senses, and Taeyong just nuzzles into his shoulder helplessly.

Doyoung takes this as an opportunity to press his mouth to Taeyong's neck, and Taeyong doesn't want to think about how he imagined how it would feel, how the thought of kissing Doyoung has always been there, in the back of his mind, when they were barely a group and even beyond. Way beyond, back when Taeyong was so lost and so unsure of everything, but not Doyoung. Never Doyoung.

He tries to focus on the now, Doyoung's lips ghosting over his sensitive skin, until Taeyong whines, and finally, finally Doyoung kisses, and licks, and even bites, just a hint of teeth, but. It's enough. It's too much.

His mouth, so close, Taeyong could just turn his head back and meet it — but he can't, he can't, this is not anything they discussed, and they didn't really discuss this enough, have they, so he just presses closer and— and feels something else that falls outside of the initial proposition.

Doyoung is hard as well.

Perhaps not as desperate as Taeyong is, as evident by the fact that he is keeping his hips still, but it's — it's there. And Taeyong is completely overwhelmed by the desire to make Doyoung feel good, too, and how he somehow managed to ignore the possibility until this moment.

"Doyoungie," he breathes out, finding it almost impossible not to press back into him.

"What do you need," Doyoung responds immediately, so eager, god, his voice alone could probably—

"C-can I…" he can't even say it, too afraid of what the response would be, even though on the physical level Doyoung could perhaps also benefit from— from, uh, relaxing.

"Whatever you want," Doyoung breathes into his neck, soft but determined, and Taeyong knows he probably doesn't mean it that way, too focused on making Taeyong feel good, maybe even unaware of his own erection—

He grinds back into Doyoung.

The sound Doyoung makes can't be described as a moan, or even a whimper — it's something soft, high-pitched and so unexpected, so precious that Taeyong wants to take it to the deepest part of his mind and hide it there, forever.

But then Doyoung speaks, and Taeyong feels like he's just been dumped into cold water.

"Hey, please don't," Doyoung says softly.

Taeyong stills.

Embarrassment falls over him so strong and heavy that he doesn't even know how to respond. _Of course_ , he thinks, _sorry_ , he thinks, _I'm such an idiot_ , he thinks.

"Why," he asks instead.

He can't open his eyes, he can't look at Doyoung.

"I just wanted to help," Doyoung explains in a quiet voice.

Right — of course. Selfless, endlessly patient, magnanimous Doyoung. Taeyong feels sick.

He slides off him, curls into his side. The stupidest thing was not allowing Doyoung to do this for him, but thinking it had anything to do with their relationship as a whole, imagining, even briefly, that Doyoung wanted this, actually wanted _him_.

Doyoung puts his hand on his shoulder.

"Sorry, I… I didn't want to— I didn't realise—" he stumbles over words, and Taeyong doesn't know what's worse: that Doyoung is so hesitant now or the sure way he rebutted him earlier.

He should have asked, he knows. He couldn't just hope the meaning would carry over somehow, he couldn't just rely on their understanding of each other. Of course Doyoung had entirely different intentions.

"I didn't know you would want… more," Doyoung breaks the silence. "I thought— I could help you, but I didn't know you would be— that you're so—" he takes a breath, shakes his head. "And I really wanted to make you feel good." He says the last part quietly, but there's no waiver in his voice.

Taeyong turns over to face him and his eyes immediately find Doyoung's — they are wide, scared, maybe, his whole face confused and lost in the way that always makes the members want to make fun of him.

Taeyong scoots closer. It's easy, whatever his embarrassment. It's easy because it's Doyoung.

"I want to make you feel good too," he whispers.

Doyoung's mouth falls open.

Taeyong prepares himself for anything: any number of "buts", "we can't", a multitude of reasons, all of them with just one meaning: rejection. But Doyoung doesn't say anything, just stares back, as if searching for something in Taeyong's face.

Doyoung's lips, parted, lips that have just touched his neck. Doyoung's eyes, wider than usual, his eyebrows betraying every emotion he's feeling, as always. Taeyong aches just looking at him, hurts with how familiar and vulnerable Doyoung looks.

Doyoung's eyes flick to his mouth.

Taeyong moves in.

Maybe he's interpreting it the wrong way, maybe he's messing it up. Maybe the years of growing attuned to one another don't actually mean anything, not here, not in this case.

He's scared, but he can swear that he can see the same in Doyoung's eyes. He can swear that Doyoung leans in at the last moment.

The kiss lacks all of the heat one could expect after what has just transpired between them. It's as if they weren't just lying on this bed, Doyoung almost making Taeyong come just by playing with his chest.

It's small and unsure, just a brush of lips, but with every second that passes Taeyong's doubts trickle out of him. It's slow and hesitant, but Doyoung's mouth is moving against him, and Taeyong has no idea if Doyoung has thought about it before, if Doyoung has been trying to escape these feelings for as long as he has, but it doesn't matter. Not right now, when Doyoung finally raises his hand and gently, so gently touches the back of Taeyong's neck.

It's hard to kiss with their lips so dry, and Taeyong barely thinks before his tongue darts out, licking at Doyoung's mouth. He is careful not to lean into him too much, careful not to spook Doyoung, but all of it flies out of the window when Doyoung opens his mouth for him. 

"Ah," Taeyong exhales when Doyoung's fingers press harder into his nape and Doyoung's tongue flicks against his own. He wishes he had something to hold on, because otherwise he might just fall onto Doyoung, so he searches blindly until his hand comes across something firm but soft.

Taeyong freezes for a moment, waiting to see if Doyoung will do anything, but the only thing Doyoung does is splay his fingers into Taeyong's hair. In return, Taeyong squeezes the thigh under his palm, feeling more desperate but not yet daring enough — and then Doyoung scratches his nape, where Taeyong is apparently sensitive, causing him to moan helplessly.

They part, Taeyong opening his eyes, part of him embarrassed over his reaction until he sees Doyoung's gaze, blazing, heated. "You're so…" he starts saying, and then just shakes his head.

_Touch me, touch me,_ Taeyong thinks. _You never could resist, right?_

As if hearing him, Doyoung squeezes the back of Taeyong's head, tugging on the short hair there, perhaps unintentionally — and Taeyong throws his head back, baring his neck. 

He can't get over the way Doyoung looks at him, intense but full of wonder and, maybe, something like reverence. He feels like he would do anything to get more of it.

"Doyoungie," he breathes out, and the next second, Doyoung is kissing his neck, with the same tenderness Taeyong could feel before.

Maybe he wasn't wrong about this, about them.

He doesn't want to think about it, he wants to melt in Doyoung's hands, he wants to disappear completely and only feel the touches that are so familiar yet new all the same.

The light, fleeting caress, warm breath on his neck make Taeyong want to jump out of his skin. Some part of him needs more, he is distantly aware of the fact that he's still undoubtedly hard, but all of it fades in the face of what he feels in Doyoung's touches.

Still, it's getting ever so difficult to hold in his whimpers and gasps, and after he bites his lip for a millionth time, Doyoung raises his face and says almost right into Taeyong's mouth, "Please. I want to hear you."

And, alright, Taeyong doesn't give a fuck who hears them and what sort of embarrassment he will be subjected to come morning.

He breathes out Doyoung's name and is treated to the way his eyes flash before Doyoung claims his mouth again. It's kind of funny, that he just asked to hear Taeyong and then proceeded to shut him up in perhaps the most effective way possible, but it's the last thing he is able to think before everything disappears.

This kiss is different and similar at the same time — still overwhelmingly tender, but growing more intense and desperate, as if Doyoung has also… as if he too has been—

Doyoung grabs at him, finding Taeyong's waist easily, and wastes no time pushing his hand under the loose t-shirt. Taeyong shudders, arches when Doyoung's fingers dance all over his sensitive skin, and he's reaching for him before he even realises it himself.

"Come here," Doyoung mumbles into his mouth and Taeyong scrumbles to get into his lap, and oh god, it feels so right. His first instinct is just to wrap his arms around Doyoung, his safe, familiar body, and he doesn't resist, latches onto him with all his limbs.

Doyoung's hand under his t-shirt moves over to his back, causing shivers here and there, but mostly just stroking gently. Taeyong nuzzles into his neck and is pleased to get a soft sigh in response.

"How are you so lovely," he hears, and the praise spreads like molten heat inside him. This is so unfair, how Doyoung can do this to him with his words _and_ his touches, but Taeyong guesses if he had to choose, he would want it to be Doyoung.

He presses a soft kiss to Doyoung's neck, and then more over his collarbones, and at the first hint of teeth Doyoung's fingers clench into his back, nails digging in hard, and Taeyong whines in turn.

"God," Doyoung whispers, sounding as shaken as Taeyong feels. Somehow, Taeyong is afraid to look at his face right now, afraid of what each of them could see — so he continues, covering Doyoung's skin with kisses.

Doyoung isn't loud, he discovers, but maybe he hasn't found the right places yet. Taeyong wants to find all of them, wants to spend forever exploring, getting to know Doyoung's body the way he hopes he knows his mind.

The most he gets right now are soft sighs and, at times, fingers tightening in his hair or on his back. Taeyong wishes he could bite — maybe then he would hear more of Doyoung's beautiful voice.

He moves back up slowly, and at the first tug on his earlobe Doyoung gasps and shivers, and Taeyong laughs in delight.

"What's so funny," Doyoung grumbles, but his voice is shaky and hoarse, completely mesmerising.

"Maybe I'm not the only sensitive one," Taeyong whispers into his ear, overjoyed at his discovery.

Doyoung stills.

The next thing he knows, he's lying on his back — and what the fuck, Doyoung is not supposed to be strong, but there he is, hovering over Taeyong.

"You dare," he starts, and Taeyong almost laughs again at how indignant he sounds, "call me sensitive. You."

"It's not my fault you have— ahhhh," he moans when Doyoung drags his thumb over one of Taeyong's nipples.

"Do I need to remind you," Doyoung says, rubbing his thumb in slow circles, "who's the one who falls to the floor like he's been electrocuted whenever I so much as touch the air in front of his chest?"

"Ah, Doyoungie—"

"Who got hard when I barely touched his waist?" Doyoung licks his finger, and Taeyong desperately wishes it was him doing that, and then, oh god, he's pressing it to his other nipple, _fuck._

Taeyong's hips buck up, and Doyoung sits down on his thighs to prevent him from moving. On his _bare_ thighs. Fuck, fuck, he hasn't even imagined how it would feel, to be pinned down under Doyoung's body and his gaze, and he wants to close his eyes except that to miss any second of this would be completely unacceptable.

"Please," he mumbles, forgetting any dignity, "please, please—"

"Raise your arms," Doyoung says softly, and Taeyong obliges, trembling slightly as Doyoung gets his t-shirt off.

He wonders if he should keep his arms up — if that's something Doyoung would like. He feels exposed, even more now, but he relishes in the feeling, knowing it's something Doyoung has asked for.

Taeyong meets his gaze and his heart skips a beat.

Doyoung's eyes are so, so dark, and his mouth is slightly open, as if he, too, can't believe it's really happening. His fingers trace down Taeyong's chest, seemingly without intent, but Taeyong shivers all the same.

"You aren't cold?" Doyoung asks suddenly, breaking the strange atmosphere, and Taeyong smiles helplessly.

"No," he replies, warm. "Come here."

Doyoung bends down without any more words.

Kissing him doesn't get any less unbelievable — there's the whole fact of it, and then there's the way Doyoung kisses. The way Doyoung kisses _him._

It's strange, but in all the years of pushing away not-exactly-friend-like thoughts of Doyoung, Taeyong has never been able to imagine kissing him. Maybe it's something about this activity that's just hard to replicate in his brain. Maybe it's the way he's barely kissed three people in his life.

He knows he wouldn't have been able to imagine this. This, Doyoung's lips pressing to his in short intervals, almost teasing except that Taeyong can't really imagine Doyoung teasing anyone — until finally their mouths move against each other, opening slightly. Doyoung, Taeyong finds, always starts small, as if testing what works. Taeyong would gladly take everything, if it was him, but Doyoung's eagerness to figure out what feels best makes him feel like he's floating.

Time slows down once again, and Taeyong barely registers the way Doyoung strokes down his arms — still raised — until somehow there are warm hands on his jaw, and lips sliding down, down, until—

Taeyong arches at the first touch of wet tongue to his chest, choking on a moan when Doyoung moves his lips closer to one of his nipples, agonisingly slow.

"I wondered," Doyoung says, mouth against skin, and Taeyong opens his eyes, startled, looks down and almost dies from the sight, "just how sensitive you were. Sometimes."

The confession doesn't sound like anything grand, but Taeyong knows what's lying behind it.

"I— wondered, too," he offers in return, biting his tongue before he can spill the way he woke up next to Doyoung once after a late night as trainees and realised he wanted it forever, "what you could… do. If you knew. If you..." he takes a sharp breath. "If you wanted me too."

Doyoung looks agonized, his perfect brows scrunched, but before Taeyong can make it even worse, he bends down and actually _sucks_ on his nipple.

"Fuck," Doyoung swears, _swears_ , at the moan that breaks out of Taeyong, who thinks he might get reprimanded for being loud after all, but— "I love how you sound, so good, so perfect, Taeyongie," he says instead, and Taeyong squeezes his eyes shut again, unable to take seeing Doyoung alongside feeling _and_ hearing him.

With one of his senses blocked, everything else gets elevated — or that's how it's supposed to work, Taeyong thinks, because that's when he realises with alarming clarity that they're mere centimeters away from grinding into each other. He has to applaud Doyoung's self-control — at least he has the heightened sensitivity of his chest (and the rest of his body) to focus on.

But now that he's realised that Doyoung's cock is right _there_ , it's impossible not to feel it, and equally impossible to ignore his own erection pressing into Doyoung's hip, his underwear hiding nothing.

"Doyoungie," he breathes out, "I, ah, oh god, please—"

He can't even get the words out, no, scratch that, he can't even put what he wants into words, not when Doyoung seems absolutely intent on sucking Taeyong's life out through his nipples.

Somehow, he remembers he has arms, which he lowers to Doyoung's head, and then to his shoulders. Suddenly it seems terribly unfair that Doyoung still has a t-shirt on, but all Taeyong can do is tug at it helplessly until Doyoung raises his head.

"Off," Taeyong demands, trying and failing not to sound whiny. Whatever. Doyoung has seen him whiny, he can bear with it again.

Doyoung smiles, shakes his head. "My chest isn't that sensitive," he chuckles.

Personally, Taeyong will only believe that once he's thoroughly explored it, but for now, he just pouts.

"Fine," Doyoung drawls and tugs the t-shirt off, even though Taeyong could have done it for him.

Taeyong's hands fly up to touch him before he can stop himself. There's nothing inherently special about Doyoung's chest, his soft stomach, his lack of abs.

It feels special all the same.

"Beautiful," Taeyong mumbles before he can stop himself, and is treated to the rare sight of Doyoung flushing. More than that, he flushes with his entire chest. Taeyong will carry this knowledge with him to his grave.

"Stop," Doyoung demands and then he actually hugs himself, hiding his body, startling Taeyong into laughter. "I'm serious!"

Taeyong swallows before he can say something really, really stupid.

He gently guides Doyoung's arms away, and then they stare at each other, somehow thrown out of the moment. One of Doyoung's hands finds his.

"How are you so warm? It's uncanny," Taeyong says just to say something, even if it's actually the last thing he would complain about.

"How are you a living icicle?" Doyoung throws back. "Also, did you just call me hot?"

Taeyong stares him in the eye and can't find anything else to say except, "You are."

Doyoung squirms under his gaze.

"You don't need to compliment me to get me to kiss you."

Taeyong laughs helplessly.

"That's not what's happening," he says, but it's hard to stay serious when Doyoung is being this dumb. "Now kiss me."

Doyoung huffs. Taeyong licks his lips.

"Ask nicely," Doyoung says, and Taeyong gapes at him.

"What?"

"Don't just demand things," Doyoung says, and suddenly one of his hands is back to Taeyong's chest, the sneaky bastard—

"Ah—"

"Ask. Nicely," Doyoung punctuates the words by twisting his nipple, and it hurts, but in a good way, maybe. Maybe Taeyong is the twisted one.

Whichever it is, he finds it so, so easy to give in.

"Please, Doyoungie, please kiss me, touch me, pleasepleaseplease—" he's cut off by lips against his, or rather, almost there because Doyoung tries to go for it directly and, of course, lands his mouth a couple centimeters too high, and Taeyong smiles before they adjust, and it's becoming familiar, it's starting to feel terrifyingly right.

Amidst it all, Taeyong almost forgets that Doyoung is still holding his hand. It seems so small in the grand scheme of things, but he can't help thinking how he's wanted it for a while, just the warm touch of Doyoung's hand in his. He never asked — Doyoung isn't big on handholding, he thought. Well. He used to think many things.

Feeling Doyoung's touch on him is unbelievable, especially when Doyoung seems to remember he still has one hand free and sneaks it in-between their bodies to scratch at Taeyong's skin, immediately winding him up again.

"Tell me," Doyoung says between kisses and Taeyong's pants, "what do you want, tell me."

Taeyong hasn't yet recovered from finding out just how hot Doyoung's body actually is, and how skin-on-skin contact feels — it's been _so long_ , he can't count. He can't even fathom wanting more than this, but then Doyoung grinds into him, just slightly, barely there, and now, now Taeyong needs _more_ , absolutely desperate for confirmation that Doyoung wants it just as much.

He manages to squeeze his own hand in-between their bodies, tracing blindly until he reaches the waistband of Doyoung's comfy sleep pants.

"Can I," he whispers hoarsely.

Doyoung raises his head from where he was kissing below Taeyong's ear. His big warm black eyes stare back in slight confusion, and the attention makes Taeyong burn even hotter.

"Please," he adds, and something in Doyoung's expression shifts, and then he is pressing their foreheads together, and Taeyong is drowning in how familiar his face looks, open and vulnerable and slightly worried.

"Okay," Doyoung mumbles, and Taeyong closes the distance between them, kissing Doyoung open-mouthed and hot. Covered up by the distraction, he sneaks his hand into Doyoung's pants, startling Doyoung into a gasp and a curse.

Taeyong finds that he _loves_ it, loves to hear Doyoung let go of his inhibitions and his mouth run filthy. The power goes to his head, makes him even more stupid and lost in _this._

Doyoung shifts, raising his hips to make it easier for Taeyong to get a grasp on him, and so he does. He strokes him inexpertly, weird angle not helping with how overwhelmed he already is, just from touching Doyoung, from finally being able to bring pleasure to him.

And god, he wants more — he wants to get on his knees for Doyoung, wants to lay him out and find all of the sensitive spots he _knows_ must be there, wants many things that he still can't be sure Doyoung reciprocates.

But it's enough, for now, to have Doyoung bucking into his touch, panting harshly into Taeyong's mouth, hands squeezing helplessly, his eyes shut tightly while Taeyong's are wide open, taking everything in.

Without stopping, he stretches his neck out to reach Doyoung's ears, biting on his earlobe, and Doyoung _twitches_ in his grasp, whining into Taeyong's shoulder.

"You," Taeyong chokes out, and words escape him in the face of his closest, dearest person crumbling right above him, "you have no idea, you're so lovely, so hot— I want to make you feel so good, I can't believe — fuck," he presses kisses to the sensitive ear, and Doyoung grips him harder, still managing to accidentally find new sensitive places on Taeyong's body, making him ache with arousal. "Are you close, Doyoungie, will you come for me—"

"Yes, yes," Doyoung whimpers, hand squeezing Taeyong's tight, "I, ah, I'm close, can you— can—" 

He doesn't seem to be able to put a sentence together, but neither is Taeyong, so he just continues jerking Doyoung off the best he can, and noses at his face until their lips meet again. Both of Doyoung's hands fly up, but Taeyong doesn't have time to regret it because his head is cradled in-between two warm palms, and he's looking into Doyoung's face, memorising every line and crease of it, red lips half-open, eyebrows drawn together, his lovely, lovely face, god, Taeyong won't ever be able to get over this, will he, he will close his eyes and see this: Doyoung hovering over him, not the slightest bit intimidating, open and trusting and maybe, possibly, _his_.

"I'm— I—" Doyoung gasps out, and before Taeyong can kiss him, he's coming.

And maybe that's even better, better than anything Taeyong could — did — imagine. Doyoung isn't loud, but he's trembling and whining softly as he falls apart, beautiful face scrunched up in pleasure. Taeyong throbs in sympathy, dragging it out as much as he can, until Doyoung's noises turn into sounds of discomfort and he hides his face in Taeyong's neck.

Gingerly, he takes his hand out of Doyoung's pants — maybe they should have taken those off — and freezes in uncertainty.

"Uh, I—"

Wincing, he wipes his hand on the sheets. Doyoung mumbles something into his neck.

"What?" Taeyong asks, kinda dumbstruck by the expanse of Doyoung's back — but then the weight lifts off him.

"You don't think I'm done with you, do you?" Doyoung mutters, still short of breath, eyes shining, hovering over him once again, and it should be funny, it should be stupid — it definitely shouldn't be making Taeyong even harder.

"I—" Taeyong starts, but somehow there's a knee pressing into his crotch, and his mouth opens in a quiet gasp.

Doyoung shifts, settling into a more steady position, and then one of his hands is sliding from Taeyong's shoulder down his chest, to his hips — Taeyong follows it with his gaze and then looks up, at Doyoung's concentrated expression; he wonders how it's possible to be this cute and hot at the same time.

He doesn't wonder for long, because at the first touch to his inner thighs all thoughts abandon him. Doyoung is just tracing his skin, but — god, at least Taeyong's underwear is black today so it doesn't show exactly how wet it is, but he can _feel_ it, and no amount of clothes could hide how hard he is — even though it hasn't really changed since they first started… this.

Taeyong tears his eyes away only to find Doyoung staring intently at where he's touching. Oh god, his tongue is peeking out inbetween his lips, and some distant part of Taeyong that isn't clouded with arousal notes his expression, memorising it and storing it away.

"Want to touch you everywhere," Doyoung murmurs, the familiar lilt of his voice both soothing and shocking — Taeyong is still reeling from hearing him talk like that, say those things. To _him_.

His other hand Doyoung splays on his chest, stroking without looking, and Taeyong doesn't even know what to beg for, anymore. He feels it all throughout him, the touch, not just in his aching cock, but down to the tips of his fingertips.

"You're killing me," he manages, the last syllable fading into a whimper when Doyoung's fingers start toying with the waistband of his underwear. "Aah, why are you so— such a tease, Doyoungie—"

"Should I stop?" Doyoung asks, grinning, breathless, and Taeyong surges up to kiss him, a horrible mess of a kiss, but he can't contain himself anymore, bursting at the seams from everything he's feeling.

God, and Doyoung hasn't even touched him, not directly—

"Don't, don't stop, dontstopdontstop—" he blabbers once he finally can pull himself away, neck hurting from straining, falling back onto the sheets.

He watches Doyoung take him all in until he seems to reach a decision and finally, _finally_ he presses his hand to Taeyong's cock.

It takes all of his will not to close his eyes, not to draw his gaze away, because he wants, needs to see this, Doyoung’s full, undivided attention, his whole focus just this, just Taeyong and the way he is falling apart.

“Beautiful,” Doyoung breathes out, and Taeyong whines, the simplest praise making him want to hide away, “can’t believe you— that I get to—”

“Fuck,” Taeyong gasps when he feels lips on his neck, gentle, too gentle, he wants more and harder and he wants _marks_ , even though it’s even more of an impossibility than being as loud as he wants them to be. Doyoung is palming him, and whispering things that Taeyong can’t even process into his skin, and then, then his hand is back on Taeyong’s nipples. He starts rubbing one of them, soft first, but then harder, and Taeyong belatedly realises he must have asked for it — fuck, he asked for all of it, didn’t he, and Doyoung just— he just—

“Love you, love you, please, I— I can’t—” he hears spilling from his own lips, until Doyoung’s mouth finds his, maybe to silence him, maybe for some other reason, and he can’t even ask him for anything now, and he doesn’t even want to. He doesn’t even need anything more than this — Doyoung was right, he could have probably come just from fingers playing with his chest, and it’s insane that now he gets to have this, Doyoung’s body, his hands, his lips, his voice—

“I’m gonna come,” he chokes out into the messy kiss, and Doyoung hums in agreement, as if he approves.

“Come for me,” he whispers, and well, Taeyong is nothing if not predictable, because he does.

Doyoung keeps touching him, relentless, until Taeyong’s whole body is thrumming with it, aching and oversensitive.

"Too— too much," he gasps, and Doyoung squeezes him one last time before he lifts his hand, and Taeyong doesn't think before his arms fly up and gather Doyoung close.

Doyoung lets him.

Slowly, slowly Taeyong becomes aware of things that aren't just the warmth of Doyoung's body on him. The uncomfortable stickness in his pants, and Doyoung's as well — how cold his feet are — the smell of sweat and sex — the low sound coming from his headphones where he forgot to turn the music off. The fact that their entire floor probably heard him. Fuck.

And behind all of it, the realisation of what they have just done. What Doyoung did for him.

Oh god.

Taeyong's first instinct is to apologise, but even in his post-orgasm state he understands just how stupid that would be.

"Thank you," he murmurs instead and instantly regrets it.

Doyoung raises his head. His expression, for once, is unreadable.

"I didn't do— I didn't do this for gratitude," he says, clearly uncomfortable, and then he's moving away, off Taeyong, and reaching for his t-shirt.

"No— sorry— sorry, I didn't mean," Taeyong says hurriedly, helplessly watching Doyoung put it back on. He can't find the right words to say. There are no right words.

He sits up, hugging his knees close.

Doyoung sneaks a glance at him, and then, without looking, pulls the blanket up and covers Taeyong's legs.

Taeyong wants to reach out, wants to gather him close again, he wants to fall asleep with Doyoung there and wake up the same.

But it's nothing new, is it? He's wanted that for years.

Doyoung's hands are still on the blanket. He won't look up.

For once, Taeyong has no idea what he's thinking. Is he regretting it? Is he thinking of a non-awkward way to escape this situation?

"I hope," Doyoung's voice cuts through the heavy silence, and Taeyong almost flinches at how off it sounds, "I-I hope you'll sleep well now, hyung."

Taeyong wants to scream. He wants to curl into a tiny ball and stay like that forever.

He nods.

Slowly, Doyoung's hands move off the blanket, off his knees.

Slowly, he moves away. Stands up.

_Stay_ , Taeyong thinks. _I need you, please, I can't sleep without you._

He squeezes his eyes shut. 

The door clicks softly.

_I’d rather have this all be a dream_ , Taeyong hears faintly from his headphones.

The funniest thing is, Doyoung was right. He falls asleep easily.


	2. close your eyes, hold your heart

Doyoung doesn't sleep that night.

Stupid, he thinks, the last night before their comeback, the last chance to get some rest before they get swept up in it all.

But he closes his eyes and he can only see Taeyong — Taeyong on his lap, Taeyong under him, lips he kissed, lips he now knew intimately, dark eyes, every millimeter of his skin bursting with sensitivity. So beautiful Doyoung wants to cry just remembering it.

What was he thinking— how dumb was he, offering to get off his groupmate, the closest thing to a best friend that he has? In what world could that have been a good idea?

If only he didn't check on Taeyong—

Right. As if that was possible.

Doyoung's face burns with shame as he recalls how he dropped by Taeyong's room a week ago, forgetting for a few seconds that their leader was thousands of kilometers away. He opened the door without knocking, ready to scold his friend for staying up late, and found it dark and quiet. So quiet.

He came in, watered the plants, sat on the bed, the very bed where he and Taeyong just—

Right.

He almost fell asleep there, the sheets on Taeyong's bed somehow comforting, familiar, the smell of the room tugging at Doyoung's heart.

And today, he almost did the same. Maybe, maybe if he just avoided touching Taeyong, teasing him, if only he reigned himself in — maybe they could have just slept together.

He thought, at the last moment, that Taeyong wanted that — that he might ask him to stay.

Doyoung tells himself he doesn't know what he would have done, but it would have been so easy — so, so easy to curl up around Taeyong and drift off to sleep together.

 _And then what?_ Doyoung thinks, hysterically. _Sneak out of his room before anyone wakes up? Open his eyes and study Taeyong's sleeping face, resting for once? Wake up and find that Taeyong is close and hard and—_ no, he is not going to think of that time.

It's so easy to take care of Taeyong. Well, he certainly doesn't _make_ it easy, but it feels easy, it feels right. Checking up on him, making sure he eats, sleeps, takes regular breaks might seem like rotten work, but it never feels so, not to Doyoung.

He can't say when it morphed into affection. Maybe it always has been so, or maybe it shifted quietly, somewhere in the long nights spent by his side the dance studio, or morning hours when he saw Taeyong return to the dorm, exhausted, and his heart ached.

But it's always been easy, carrying it inside him, letting it show in his nagging, transforming worry into annoyance just for show. As long as Taeyong accepted it, Doyoung didn't mind.

He thought he knew where they stood. He thought he knew his limits — well. He thought he had limits.

Even if he did, Taeyong sneaked past them the way he used to sneak into Doyoung's bed many years ago.

God, he's so stupid — he _knows_ Taeyong sleeps better with someone else, and he knows Taeyong wouldn't ask himself. That's why Doyoung came into his room in the first place, didn't he?

...Didn't he?

Doyoung recalls Taeyong's startled yell, how cute he looked with his legs tucked under him. (The bare legs that Doyoung has touched.) How tired he looked, how much Doyoung wanted to lay him in bed and make him rest. (Instead, he laid him in bed and made him come.) How Taeyong didn't protest even once when he invited him to lie down together.

It's not that he expected protest, not since Taeyong wasn't really immersed in something — he always prefers to work in the studio anyway, free of distractions. Free of Doyoung's nagging, too.

The only moment he protested was when Doyoung offered to get him off.

God. He really — he went and did it, didn't he. Just fucking suggested he help Taeyong masturbate so he could sleep.

Doyoung buries his face in his hands. He can't stop remembering. Taeyong was so startled, so nervous, and Doyoung just wanted to help, but. Some part of him wanted to make him relax even more — make him feel good — hear him. See him unravel. 

Some part of him wanted Taeyong.

That's all it comes down to.

Cold and alone on his bed, he tries listening to music, but it does nothing to quiet the echo of Taeyong's voice in his head. _Touch me,_ it says, _I want to make you feel good too._

_Come here._

_I wondered if you wanted me too._

_Love you._

God, he should have just stayed. In the private of his room, Doyoung realises that he wanted to, it just— he couldn't— he just couldn't make that step. If Taeyong said something, anything besides thanking him, effectively ending the encounter, then maybe — maybe.

Doyoung's whole mind is maybes.

Maybe if he didn't go to Taeyong's room, maybe if he wasn't so bent on helping him, maybe if Taeyong wasn't so sensitive. Maybe if he just stayed.

 _I can’t sleep, trying to forget you_ , he thinks hysterically. Funny how he’s one who ends up stays awake the whole night in the end.

*

As predicted, the next few days are a whirlwind of activities. Before Doyoung can notice, it's already been over a week, they've already managed to perform in several shows, go to America and come back.

Everyone is thrumming with excess energy, thrilled and exhausted at the same time. All throughout, Doyoung thanks every known deity for his ability to sleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Taeyong, he knows, has not been as blessed.

He doesn't even try to pretend he doesn't notice the dark circles under his eyes that the make-up team has to cover every day, or the heaviness that follows Taeyong in the mornings. Doyoung nags in front of other members — not doing that would make it too suspicious — and Taeyong takes it in stride. On the surface, nothing has changed.

Inside, Doyoung wants nothing more than to gather Taeyong in his arms and ask — _demand_ to know what he can do, how he can help.

It's not his job. He doesn't have to — he can't always be taking care of Taeyong. He shouldn't always be taking care of Taeyong.

But he knows nothing else.

It's a rare evening when they don't have to record a show performance at 3 AM, and Doyoung is once again in front of Taeyong's door.

This time, he knocks.

 _If he doesn't hear_ , Doyoung thinks frantically, _if he doesn't hear, I'll just go._

"Come in," the voice comes, and he opens the door.

Taeyong looks up from where he is bent over his desk and actually _flinches_ in shock.

"Oh," he says. Then, "You never knock, I— I didn't think."

"Yeah," Doyoung confirms quietly, shamefully, even though Taeyong has never said anything to imply he minds in the slightest. "I'm. Sorry."

There is a lot he wants to apologise for, but he doesn't clarify. Feeling so embarrassed in front of Taeyong is new, and the sensation is awful, clawing at his insides.

Taeyong doesn't answer, just gestures at the door, and Doyoung closes it behind him, hoping he's understood correctly.

He tries for nonchalance, he really does, walking up to Taeyong and asking, "What are you— oh."

On the table is the colouring book Doyoung has never seen him use before — the last time he saw it was when he gifted it to Taeyong, laughing at his startled expression. 

Taeyong says nothing, and Doyoung slowly lets his gaze move from the book to his friend's face.

He has his glasses on, a new comfy-looking sweater slipping down his shoulder, and Doyoung's treacherous heart skips a beat at how lovely he looks.

He's gnawing on his lip, and Doyoung almost scolds him for it, but can't find it in himself to say it. It's— it's ridiculous how the mundane actions feel so foreign now, without the others to pretend in front of.

"Are you gonna tell me I'm not sleeping again?" Taeyong finally asks, gaze not moving from his book.

Doyoung wishes he didn't have to say anything, wishes he could just drag Taeyong to bed and be done with it.

A week ago, he could.

"I want to help," he whispers, so inadequate, but the only thing he can manage.

"Help like you did last time?" Taeyong mutters, and it's so unexpectedly bitter that Doyoung blanches. "Sorry," Taeyong adds, softer, regretful.

 _It's me who should be sorry,_ Doyoung thinks sadly, casting his eyes down. God, how did he manage to do everything so spectacularly wrong?

“I…” he starts, but doesn’t know what to say after. “I shouldn’t have…”

Taeyong doesn't agree or rebut him. They're silent except for the way Taeyong keeps thumbing at a page, and then says, "I jerked off every day after, you know."

Doyoung chokes on nothing, the images rising unbidden in his mind. _Stop_ , he thinks. _You have no right to think of him like that._

"Mhm?" he manages, sneaking a glance again.

"Didn't help," Taeyong smiles bitterly, looking down, mindlessly picking at the edges of the book now.

"Does that mean—" Doyoung mumbles, unable to stop himself. "Does that— do you want me to—"

Taeyong's expression grows serious in an instant, and he shuts the book closed.

"I don't want your pity," he says very quietly.

"I just—"

"How can you— you're so _helpful_ ," Taeyong spits it out with venom and Doyoung blanches. Taeyong doesn't get angry, not visibly. He doesn't get upset, but now he is, and it's all on Doyoung. "You give and give and give, but it doesn't work that way! Nobody wants it that way, I don't—" he almost chokes on the words, and for a horrifying moment Doyoung thinks he's about to cry. "I don't want your help."

He is breathing heavily now, and Doyoung is barely holding himself up — it's like his own personal nightmare, _you're not needed, you're not wanted, everything you are is useless_ pulsing in his head.

"I just want you," Taeyong finishes quietly. He sounds sad, so sad, and at first Doyoung can't even comprehend the words.

"What?" he breathes out.

"I wish you would want me," Taeyong whispers, and when he finally, finally raises his head and looks at Doyoung, his eyes are shining. "Just me, just… wish you would do something because _you_ wanted it."

Doyoung feels like a balloon that's got air fizzling out of it. Small and pitiful.

"I never," he starts, voice shaking, "I never do things I don't want. Not with something like this, I… I thought you knew that." He chews on his bottom lip, Taeyong's earnest eyes glued to his. "I missed you. It— it's been a long time since we were in the dorms for long, and I missed… coming to your room. Listening to you talk. H-holding you while you fall asleep."

Doyoung used to think they were open and honest with each other, but every word feels like he's ripping it out of himself.

Taeyong watches him with comically wide eyes.

"I know I'm… bad at instigating something unless it's for someone," Doyoung pushes on. "But please believe me that I— just because I take care of you, it doesn't mean I don't want," he stumbles over his words, jittery, awkward, but the only thing in his mind is Taeyong's pained expression and how he never wants to see it again. "I— Sorry, this is hard, but I promise—"

Taeyong hugs him. He doesn't even stand up, just moves his chair these few centimeters towards Doyoung and throws his arms around him, hiding his face in Doyoung's stomach.

Helplessly, Doyoung raises his hand and strokes Taeyong's hair.

"I want you to sleep well, and I want to help you sleep — I want to be the one that takes care of you," Doyoung confesses shamefully, feeling Taeyong's arms tighten around him. "And I, I want you. Too."

He hears Taeyong make a small sound into his stomach, and for a few moments they stay like that, and — Doyoung doesn't mind. He never did.

But some insistant part of his mind keeps going: it’s time to sleep, come on, get him to bed, now.

“Taeyongie,” he calls, and Taeyong makes another indecipherable muffled sound. “Come on, let’s— let’s go—” he fumbles with his words, because it seems way too forward, suddenly, just… inviting him to bed. Especially considering the last time.

Taeyong throws his head back and stares at Doyoung. Doyoung gulps.

"You're so cute from this angle, Doyoung-ah."

It’s ridiculous that this is what flusters him. Taeyong has been so… overflowing with compliments for him lately, not even counting the time they— yes, not counting that, and every time it sends Doyoung into a small state of shock, because Taeyong has no business complimenting him, that’s for sure. He’s him. Taeyong is Taeyong.

If anyone is cute here, it’s certainly not him.

“I told you,” Doyoung huffs, trying to appear more affronted than embarrassed, “you don’t need to compliment me to get me to kiss you.”

It spills out of him almost by itself, but he can see the moment it hits Taeyong, the way he instantly grows less playful and more… something. Guarded, maybe. Hesitant.

“Will you?” Taeyong asks, and Doyoung nods, helpless.

Slowly, he takes the glasses off Taeyong's face, sets them on the table carefully, then cradles Taeyong's face in his hands. He allows himself to trace the shells of his ears, thumbs smoothing his cheekbones. Taeyong blinks once, sleepily.

"Kiss me," he breathes out, and Doyoung does.

It becomes immediately apparent that this angle is a bad idea, but for the moment, Doyoung couldn't care less. He presses their mouths together, lightly, swallowing the tiny sound Taeyong makes. Maybe — maybe he missed it. In the short time that passed, he couldn’t stop remembering the way Taeyong felt, tasted, sounded. The way he yields into the kisses at first, grows pliant and soft, and then gains assuredness again, and oh, suddenly it’s hard to remain standing for Doyoung, and Taeyong’s hands are under his t-shirt, and—

"Taeyong— Taeyongie, baby, slow down," Doyoung whispers frantically when Taeyong nearly falls out of the chair in his effort to cling to him. His eagerness makes Doyoung ache, fills him with regret at the days they wasted, days Taeyong spent without sleep. He wants to return them back in spades, wants to repay him, somehow. 

He wishes he could just lift Taeyong up and carry him to bed, but he’s afraid to drop him. It’s easier to carry someone on his back, but lifting him like that might be too much.

Taeyong whines when they separate, and Doyoung tries to urge him to stand up because seriously, the angle can’t be good for Taeyong either. He ends up dragging him out of the chair somehow, and they both stumble over to the bed and land in a heap on it.

Doyoung blinks and Taeyong is already on him, hovering over, smiling his stupid smile.

“What?” he asks, aiming for irritated.

“Got you,” Taeyong says triumphantly, leaving Doyoung in confusion.

“What are you gonna do? Pout me to death?” he asks with bravado he doesn’t feel.

Taeyong pouts, but then his fingers are moving, sliding under the clothes, and as much as Doyoung tries to keep up the pretense that he is not ticklish in the slightest, the sensation still makes him shiver and wriggle. Not to mention that Taeyong’s hands are fucking cold.

“Stop, stop, ahhh, hyung—”

“Don’t you,” Taeyong says between pants, “don’t you always say you’re not ticklish, huh, Doyoungie?”

Doyoung decides to kick him rather than reply, but Taeyong responds by gripping him stronger with his legs, and then his palms are splayed on Doyoung’s skin and he shrieks.

“Why are your hands so cold!” he exclaims, trying to squirm out from the touches, but Taeyong is absolutely relentless.

“Maybe you need to warm them up then,” Taeyong whispers, and Doyoung shakes his head and tries to tickle him in response, but he can’t get to Taeyong with all of his ugly sweater in the way — so he slides his hands lower and grips onto the bare skin of his thighs.

Taeyong freezes.

“Oh?” Doyoung says, feeling the smile creep onto his face. “Not so brave now, are we?”

He scratches slightly with his nails, and Taeyong does a full-body shudder and slumps onto him.

“God,” Doyoung breathes out. Taeyong’s sensitivity will be the death of him.

Slowly, he splays one hand as wide as he can and lets his fingers inch higher until they reach just under Taeyong’s shorts, and the other he slides under the giant fluffy monstrosity and then up, soaking in Taeyong’s quickening breath and little shivers.

And then he tickles him.

Taeyong shrieks and jumps up as if he’s been electrocuted, and Doyoung laughs and laughs and laughs, while Taeyong tries to scramble off him to escape his hands.

Finally Doyoung's free to rise up slightly on his elbows, and so he does. Taeyong sits in a huddle a fair bit away from him, just about as much as the bed allows. He is, of course, pouting again.

"You're evil," he says. "Evil Doyoungie."

"You're the one who tried to tickle me in the first place," Doyoung responds, very reasonably, as he thinks.

"You _know_ how ticklish I am," Taeyong complains, and then reddens slightly, which doesn't make sense until — oh.

Maybe he's thinking of the last time Doyoung tickled him, the last time they touched, just how sensitive he was — and now, so is Doyoung.

"Y-yeah," he replies belatedly, too shaky to write it off as anything other than what it is.

Taeyong hums, his gaze unreadable. Doyoung is drawn to it — he's always been, truth be told, but lately it's getting ridiculous. He doesn't need to always be looking at Taeyong, and yet.

He moves slowly, on his knees, as if magnetized, until he reaches Taeyong, until he can cup his face in one hand and look him in the eye.

Taeyong’s gaze is flicking to his lips, and Doyoung feels his own hands shaking slightly still as they come closer. It feels different, somehow, being face to face with Taeyong, knowing they both want this.

Something in him wants to prolong this moment, draw it out, preserve it as vividly as he can — part of him is aware that it could be gone too soon, not just this feeling, but also the chance to look at Taeyong this long and have him look back, touch him and kiss him and know him.

Breath mingling, slowly, they come together, Taeyong’s hands instantly clenching his shoulders.

Each kiss, Doyoung finds now, is more familiar yet more addicting, too. The more their lips touch, the closer they are, the more he realises how hard it would be to give it up.

And it’s not that he wants to, it’s not that he’s afraid, it’s just that part of him feels like it would be inevitable, that it’s impossible to sustain something like this.

Doyoung has been told over the years how he’s too guarded, too direct, too unwilling to share too much with the outsiders. It’s both true and not. It’s been hard, sometimes, to have to walk that fine line between showing the fans what they want to see and leaving something for himself. Sometimes it seems so easy for others, like they’ve got it all figured out and he’s the only one still struggling behind — but then, of course, he talks with Johnny late at night, or watches Yuta for a bit longer than usual, or notices the shift in Donghyuck when the camera stops filming and… yeah. It’s unfair to think that it’s easy for anyone.

But here, now, he wants to open up, wants to let Taeyong in, closer, deeper, more intimate. It hurts, how much he wants it.

“You’re thinking too much,” Taeyong mutters, his mouth suddenly way too close to Doyoung’s ear, right before he nips at it. It feels good, too good.

He lets his free hand find Taeyong's thigh then, fingers teasing the bare skin, and the reaction is immediate. Touching Taeyong is so… rewarding, so fucking addicting, Doyoung just wants more, more, it's insane how he held off for so long, really.

"Ah," Taeyong gasps right in his ear when Doyoung’s hand reaches the inside of his thigh. He splays his fingers over smooth skin, and Taeyong’s breathing quickens. It’s so easy to get the reaction out of him, and yet every time something in Doyoung responds to that, rising unbidden up his throat, spilling into words.

“Lovely,” digging his nails in, “Beautiful,” kissing Taeyong’s jaw, “I want to hear you more.”

“Shut up,” Taeyong mutters before pressing their mouths together, and Doyoung loves it too, when Taeyong takes control of the kiss, turns it more intense and heated, making Doyoung gasp before they separate.

"When you — ah, when you… got off, these days," Doyoung murmurs, the need to know rising in his throat, "what did you think about?"

"You know," Taeyong chokes out, "you know what I thought about, Doyoungie, it was the only thing I could think about this whole time."

And Doyoung knows it's not true, knows that Taeyong always gives his full attention to the performance, the audience, even the show hosts. It's one of his most endearing traits. But the words still send a tantalising thrill through him, a desperate desire to hear more.

"Tell me," he asks, and he should be embarrassed over how he sounds, but it's fine, everything is fine as long as it's Taeyong, "tell me what you thought about."

"You, you, it's you," Taeyong whispers, kissing his jaw and up to his ear. "Your hands, your mouth, your warm—" he whimpers when Doyoung turns his head and nips at his sensitive neck in turn. "I wanted to see you again, hear you again, like this, beside me, you sound so beautiful, you look so beautiful, I can't believe—" he moves away slightly so he can look Doyoung in the eye, and Doyoung _shakes_. "I can't believe this is happening. I can't... can't believe that I get to love you like this."

He's so serious and intense when he says it, and Doyoung is completely taken aback. He just stares, stunned, until Taeyong shifts, clearly embarrassed, and mutters, "Sorry."

"It's okay," Doyoung says automatically. “I… I can't really believe it either.”

And — he can’t find anything else to say. It’s true, of course, and yet some part of him is not surprised by this development. It’s just another way to be close — not something he thought about in detail, but something he acknowledged as a maybe, as a vague possibility.

He wrings his hands, mind whirring with how to translate that feeling into words, scared that his pause might come off as hesitance, or worse, reluctance.

But Taeyong meets his eyes, sliding a hand to his elbow, and tugs lightly. “Let’s lie down,” he suggests, and Doyoung follows.

He feels the fire of arousal slowly ebbing down in him, and he can’t really find it in himself to regret it. Still, the seriousness of Taeyong’s expression fills him with trepidation, even as he knows that he has nothing to fear from his best friend.

They lie there for a bit, not touching, and Doyoung tries to be content with that. He is, and he isn’t. It’s a strange feeling.

“I thought a lot,” Taeyong murmurs, picking on a thread in the blue blanket that always covers his bed. “About what it meant… about what you were willing to do for me.”

“It wasn’t—” Doyoung starts, affronted, hurt by the idea that what happened between them was in any way a burden, an obligation… a service. And yet, isn’t that kind of what he offered Taeyong? A helping hand?

Taeyong shushes him, and the finger on Doyoung’s lips is their only contact. Doyoung swallows, looks into Taeyong’s dark eyes, and nods.

“I don’t… I don’t mind that you’re— that you would do this for me. Even if you didn’t really want it, not like I did.” Taeyong presses his lips together. His hand drops between them, and Doyoung catches it with two of his, squeezing it slightly. “But I would rather you did what you wanted to. It’s stupid. Sorry.” He winces, and Doyoung wants nothing more than to gather him close right now, but he needs this — they need this. “I just get lost in my head sometimes, you know? It’s hard. It’s not like I don’t know that you wouldn’t do this out of pity, or, or whatever self-sacrificial image I’ve imposed on you, but sometimes it feels — sometimes I forget, especially when I’m away, from you, from the group, sometimes it’s hard to remember that you would want this. Any of this. Any of me.”

The last words are barely audible, spoken softly into the centimeters between them — Doyoung doesn’t know when they got so close, but he doesn’t care; he realises belatedly that he’s gripping Taeyong’s hand way too hard, so he lets go, only for Taeyong to hold back just as tight.

“I chose you,” Doyoung whispers, feeling feverish. “I chose you and I will continue to choose you.”

Taeyong makes a choked noise and drops his head, burrowing into Doyoung, who can’t help tugging him closer now, letting them slot together like puzzle pieces, marveling at how it never fails to make him feel safe and secure.

“I don’t think there’s anything I wouldn’t want,” Doyoung admits, and it feels like he’s figuring it out with every word, “when it comes to you. I don’t mean that you can’t have doubts, that you’re somehow wrong for having them, but… it’s you. Ah, you know that, right?” he laughs a little. “For me, it’s always been you.”

Taeyong winds his arms around him, pressing closer, closer, closer. Doyoung thinks he understands — sometimes he wants to get as close to him as possible, bury himself in everything Taeyong, the way he was tempted to bury himself in the sheets that still held faint smell of him while he was gone.

He’s always pushed that aside as unreasonable, as something out of a fantasy, something whimsical, an idea that has no place in real life — not their life, at the very least.

And maybe it’s still a little stupid, a little weird; maybe it’ll be impossible to hold onto each other the way they want, when they hardly know what will happen to them in a couple years.

But for now… Doyoung has his work cut out for him.

“You can’t fall asleep like this,” he says, too soft for the reprimand he’s aiming it to be. Taeyong mumbles something absolutely incomprehensible into his t-shirt. “Taeyongie. I’m serious. At least get under the covers.”

Taeyong mumbles something in protest, hands clutching onto his back, and Doyoung sighs. “Fine, fine.”

Just a little more.

Just a little more, forever.

**Author's Note:**

> this took me SO LONG. so much longer than i expected loool, i thought i would finish it in one-two days, i’m serious. it also became something… very different from my initial idea (which, you know, was one scene and didn’t have a chapter at all). but i’m glad it grew into this, even if it ended up a bit disjointed, maybe.
> 
> figuring Doyoung out was no easy task. this wouldn’t exist and would never be finished without [doyoubuns](https://twitter.com/doyoubuns) who held my hand throughout it all, read through all the drafts and talked Doyoung’s psychology with me, and [yongpoetry](https://twitter.com/yongpoetry) whose wonderful fic [Alien](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22203361) helped me with characterisation and inspired me, and whose thoughts and discussions were a big influence on me. thank you!!
> 
> the title is from Love Me Now, chapter titles are from Boom and Not Alone, and the lyrics in the fic are from White Night (what Taeyong hears in the first chapter and what Doyoung thinks of in the second). and there’s another reference in the text… a lot of the songs on Neo Zone fit this fic very well ahaha.
> 
> this is a very important piece for me, so i would be really thankful if you left a comment! thank you for reading! <3
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/boldmoonwalk) and [cc](https://curiouscat.me/boldmoonwalk)


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